It takes me a moment before I realize he’s on his phone. As we reach the shoulder where the bikes are parked, I settle down in the grass with Savannah in my arms. When I take a look at her face, the panic resettles itself in my gut. There’s blood dripping from her hairline, and the pupils of her eyes are too dilated. Her nearly gray complexion has me praying—fucking praying. That ambulance better hurry.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, staring up at my face.

“Don’t you ever fucking apologize to me.” It’s too harsh, but right now everything about me feels too harsh.

“I wanted to stay,” she whispers. Her eyes on my face lose focus.

“You are staying, understand. You’re staying for-fucking-ever.”

She smiles just before her eyes close and her body slumps against my chest. Behind me, a loud explosion makes the guys jump, but I don’t even move.

Chapter 22

When I peel my eyes open, it’s him I notice first. He fills the room, and not just because it’s a tiny hospital room and he dwarfs that little chair he’s in. His presence fills every inch. His anxiety. His grief. His attention...on me.

There’s an intense pounding behind my eyes, but then I feel the hazy cloud keeping the hurt covered, just not completely. They must be pumping something strong into me. I try to remember how I got here. The last thing was firing the pistol, watching the blood hit the window through the sleeve of Hugo’s jacket. Then, the car swerved. But that’s it.

There’s a cast on my left arm, something around my right leg and a thick bandage around my head. When I try to sit up, he’s there. His eyes are serious and trained on me as he steps forward to push the bed’s lift button, bringing me to a sitting position.

He smells like leather and smoke, which is the only familiar thing about him. It’s Murph but not my Murph. Something is different in the intensity.

“How do you feel?” he asks. There’s a desperate edge to his voice. He’s worried, terrified even. But that’s not what’s different.

“Okay,” I answer. “What happened?”

“Your car flipped.”

“I don’t remember.”

“We pulled you out.”

My chest tightens as I ready myself for the next question, or rather the answer to the next question. “Where is he?”

“He didn’t get out. Before it exploded.” He’s careful with his words, as if I might have an emotional reaction to this news, but I can’t help the small laugh that escapes my lips. Maybe it’s the drugs, but I have to lean my head back and let this new reality sink in.